Amethyst Ice
by Tesque
Summary: A stranger to Lucius lives in the Malfoy Manor, and her name is Narcissa Malfoy. A study of the Lucius/Narcissa relationship.


Disclaimer:The following is a spin-off from the Harry Potter books, which belong to J.K. Rowling and corporations such as Scholastic, Warner Bros, and Bloomsbury. I own nothing but the plot.****

**Amethyst Ice**

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Lucius Malfoy sat motionlessly at his polished redwood desk, giving absolutely no indication that he heard the impatient eagle owl at the study's window, let alone wanting to get up to let it in. As the incessant tapping continued, he cast a dark look at the house-elf busy at work dusting the furniture.

A glare from Lucius Malfoy was not a thing to ignore. With a terrified squeal, the house-elf shot from its spot and opened the glass window. With nimbe fingers it hurriedly untied the roll of parchment from the owl's leg, and sent the bird on its way.

"Incompetent git," Lucius sneered in disgust as the house-elf brought him the parchment.

The house-elf squeaked an apologetic, "Biddy is most sorry, Master, I is not knowing you want the message. Mistress Narcissa instructed that all letters must be directed to her, Master, I is very sorry."

"Then by all means, why did you not _obey _her instructions and _redirect_ the wretched owl to her quarters?" he snarled nastily. The house-elf squeaked, fumbling for a reply, but Lucius waved it off impatiently with a scowl. "Get out of my sight," he snapped, "before I decide to give you _clothes_!" He placed a certain, threatening emphasis on the last word, and the house-elf yelped in horror.

"Biddy is very sorry, Master, but what about the study? – I is not having dusted it dusted it yet. Ought I is being bringing Tilly in to finish – ?"

"I said _go_!" thundered Lucius, and squeaking in fright, the house-elf shot from the room.

Nobody had ever accused Lucius Malfoy of having a good temper.

Muttering various curses under his breath, Lucius rolled open the yellowed parchment. Most likely it was a letter from Draco – in which case it quite well _should_ have gone to Narcissa; he cared nothing for the affairs of his inept son –

Lucius froze.

No. For once, he did care.

Dear Mother, 

The plans are in effect. Be ready by noon Saturday. You'll be sent for by one of Dumbledore's people – Figg or Fletcher. They will arrive disguised in the form of a house-elf – what with the many we have about the Manor, Father'll surely not notice another.

Burn this the moment you've memorized it. Plans have been arranged for us to be hidden safely. Please remember not to breathe a word of this to anyone until we're safe. Especially Father. I'm told that he knows nothing of our plans, and he should stay that way until Saturday.

Draco

For a long time, Lucius didn't move.

Then, as suddenly as a light being switched on, he shot up from his desk and roared, "Narcissa!"

As few moments passed, and then Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the doorway, her face completely devoid of any emotion at all. "Yes, Lucius?" she said, her tone colourless.

Rage swelled inside of him. Too furious to even dole out a proper punishment at the moment, Lucius simply shoved the parchment at her with a hand that did not tremble, even as livid as he was. "Read this," he hissed, anger distorting his words so that he was barely coherent.

Still, Narcissa understood him – she had spent too many nights, weeks, months, years listening to him rant endlessly to not be able to make sense of his wrath-filled words. Her expression never changing, she reached out a delicate hand and took the parchment from him.

And so her expression stayed exactly the same as she read Draco's short note, except that her already-pale skin grew ever whiter. When she finished, she simply looked up at him with a look he couldn't decipher.

Her silence only served to increase his fury. "Well?" shouted Lucius. He grabbed her thin shoulders and shook her vehemently, his grey eys blazing wildly with an uncontrollable fire. "What have you to say, my dear Narcissa?" The mix of overflowing anger and sarcasm dripping from his last words was impossible to miss.

She met his burning eyes with her own cold, pale amethyst ones. The colour was strange, unusual, but then, so was she. Lucius had never fully understood his wife. Quiet, she was, and she moved through her days as though separate, detached from the rest of the world. They rarely spoke. She would always act as though nothing interested her. Including him, her husband.

Thinking this only enraged him even further. He shook her again, harder this time. "You are a Malfoy," he gritted out, his grip on her shoulders just a little too tight, the vibe of hatred extending from him to her just a little strong, "by marriage but a Malfoy. Do you know what this means?"

Narcissa looked at him, revealing nothing.

"For the love of Merlin, woman, say something!" For a third time he shook her by the shoulders, but still she ceased to speak.

He stared at her, unsure. He was aware, he knew, that he wasn't the one in control here. He wanted to be. Needed to be. But with her here…

"You don't know anything, do you."

It was a statement, not a question.

He started and glared at her, rage pulsing through every cell in his body. "What – in the – name – of – Merlin – are – you – on – about?" It was an effort for each word to be torn from his lips. Ludicrous. This was ludicrous.

 "You don't know anything." A faint ghost of a smile played about her lips. Narcissa shook her head, curling waves of pale, pale blonde hair spilling down her back as she did so.

Lucius shoved her against the desk roughly, and put his face close to hers. "I know enough," he hissed in her ear. "I know that if you, and that – that scoundrel of a son decide to side with that fool Dumbledore, you will not survive. I know that I will track you two down – personally, and I'll take great pleasure in killing you both." His voice had changed: no longer was it twisted with rage, but soft with malice, with a cold certainty.

She favoured him with a long, indecipherable look. His eyes searched hers, looking for a clue to her thoughts that wasn't there. Then she said, at last, "Get away from me." 

Narcissa pushed him away brusquely. Disgust was etched into every curve of her face. Shaking her hair into place, she ran a hand down her clothes to smooth their creases, and turned to face him. "Good-bye, Lucius," she said, and walked out.

He let her go.

**+ fin +**


End file.
